


Medicane

by wancestroll (vaassassins)



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, dansteban
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:33:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27977412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaassassins/pseuds/wancestroll
Summary: Mediterranean tropical-like cyclones, often referred to as medicanes but sometimes also as Mediterranean cyclones or as Mediterranean hurricanes, are meteorological phenomena observed over the Mediterranean Sea
Relationships: Esteban Ocon/Daniel Ricciardo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Medicane

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the charioteers](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2530991) by [revolutionnaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/revolutionnaire/pseuds/revolutionnaire). 



He stood alone on long legs. A pale face that was made for easy going smiles. The race manipulated it into a harsh expression of squinting eyes, knotted eyebrows, snarling lips, and the scars to match any soldier that has proudly cheated death. Blue robes draped down him from his shoulders to flutter violently around his sandaled toes, clothing his tall frame. His ears blushed red, and the blood pounded in his head. At the front of the pack, Esteban Ocon was the eye of the storm. 

He wobbled as his chariot, blue like the fires of hell, rolled over a stray broken spoke. His heels dug into the wood, and his knees were bent so he could absorb the shock. His thighs were starting to burn. Esteban and the other racers was a seamless stream of speed, talent, and luck. There was no room for anything but perfection. Proving his place in the last race of the day, Esteban made it a point to head the rushing sea of bodies and dirt and groaning wood.

His thin fingers gripped tighter around the reigns. Through the soft leather of his gloves and the thick calluses of his fingers, he swore he could feel every breath that moved in and out of his horses. The chariot shuddered as his horses pulled him across the circus. The dirt kicked up by the hooves and the wheels swirled to trail him. Esteban was a comet. He tried to tune out the noise. 

Esteban turned the corner and caught a quick glimpse through the howling miasma of earth and wood and muscle. They were eating his dust. Sweat collected on his brow, and that sweat collected dust. Inevitably, the sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging like hell, but he’d take the unblinking pain to a painful mistake. The tears dripped and dripped, and he didn’t flinch in his vice-like grip on the reigns. The stiff leather hurt his hands like hell. It was only the first lap; 12 more to go. He had to hold onto this lead.

Diomedes tried to push harder, sensing Daniel Ricciardo leading the rest of the others around the final corner just as the five of them crossed the finish line. Diomedes was a sleek creature of muscle. The perfect light of the midday sun reflected off the brass bells and blue tassels that decorated her harness looked incredibly out of place against her matte black coat. Diomedes was Esteban’s best horse. Her lungs worked hard, and Esteban had to hold her back just a tad. 12 laps was far from a sprint.

Like chess, chariot racing is a symbol of war, and with nobody in front to mow down in front of them, they had all the room to strategize. His horses besides Diomedes were Tristis, Salix, and Sleuth. Their coats were matte red, the dark shade of lava rocks. Sleuth was the fastest, but she relied on Diomedes for direction. Sleuth and Diomedes were in the center. Salix was the slimmest, and she was incredible at turning and was the right-most inside horse. Tristis was a fighter. She barreled through the crowd, nudging anything that blocked them out of the way and nipped at other horses who got to close, like a bodyguard for the others. She was always tied to the left outside of the four. 

Esteban recognized his horses’ puffs of steaming breath as frustration. Classic Diomedes. His four horses got their heads down and obeyed. 12 long laps to go. They could do it. Esteban left the whip tied to his side. Esteban flinched as he heard a leather stick swing through the air and crash on the muscled hide of a horse, squinted at the warbled cry of the horse behind him. He spared a look over his shoulder, dreading the inevitable. Daniel Ricciardo was barking and cackling. He tore through the dust behind Esteban. Diomedes steered them around the corner where the earth had hardly settled from the first lap, churning it all once more. The cracking wood sent a snap through the air, and Esteban whipped his head back around. 

His girls stomped hard and fast across the circus. Esteban shifted his arms to direct them around the corner, but Daniel took the inside line. Esteban didn’t do anything to stop himself from yelling aloud in frustration. Esteban felt himself slip into that panic. He begs for calmt, hoping he can convince himself as well. Esteban’s body was lithe and muscles like the horses, but all five had sharp minds as well.

Esteban pushes them straight to the opposite wall, pulling his horses into the turn. He followed Daniel across the line for the seventh time. _Fuck._ He turned his head to see the brown void they ran from. His speed on the straights was excellent. He should be in front, but Daniel. All five of them start breathing a little harder, as Esteban lets them push hard to chase Daniel down. 

Esteban steered them dangerously close to the back wheels of Daniel’s chariot. Daniel glanced back at Esteban and flashed a big smile. Esteban’s face loosened into a smile for a split second before the grin slipped off his face. Daniel turned through the corner tight against the inside wall of the circus. Esteban had to follow right behind, or else he’d lose time taking the outside line. There were chariots behind him ready to take advantage of any mistakes Esteban made. 

A team of horses with silver coats and white leather harnesses shining with embedded metal sprinted around the outside of Esteban. In the whitewashed chariot stood a stunning driver in white robes that dusted around his feet. He didn’t spare a look towards Esteban. The horses were Pavlos, Anya, Tryphosa, and Fyxus. Built small and powerful and intimidating like their racer as if the god Posidon made them for Valtteri. Esteban saw Lewis right behind. Esteban didn’t let Valtteri keep that lead for long. His horses cut Valtteri off by the end of the next lap. 

Esteban began chasing Daniel; Daniel in his blue robes; Daniel in his chariot carved with images of the sun god, Apollo; Daniel with the blue-black horses with coats shiner than the copper statues that stood on pillars in the center of the circus, shiny as each of Daniel’s teeth that flashed for a moment to Esteban. Esteban was enchanted, even from across the circus. 

Daniel was nearing the back of the other racers. He had broken away when Esteban and Valtteri were racing each other. He was tailing a safe distance away from the man in last place and over one hundred meters away from Esteban. Daniel could lap people like nobody’s business, but staying away from the beating hooves of other racers was the best bet. The feverish cheers of the audience wasn’t worth it to Daniel and other racers who valued their lives just enough. He hoped Daniel kept this sense of safety and self-preservation when Esteban got close enough to lap him. 

Esteban was at least relieved that Daniel’s prudence also gave Esteban the open air to close the gap. Esteban crossed the line into lap eight, already feeling his girls pull him away from Valtteri and Lewis. The energy the horses saved earlier now came into play, as Esteban let them run as fast as they could. It was three laps later when Esteban was on Daniel’s heels. Daniel took a defensive line, blocking the inside of the final corner, swerving to the outside when Esteban feinted a longer line to pass. Diomedes saw the gap to the left and they crashed through the open door before Daniel could slam it shut. 

When Daniel realized his mistake, he pulled his horses back left to the inside. For a moment no longer than it takes to blink your eyes, they both feared a collision. Those things inevitably happened in chariot racing, being a relic of old war technology. It was very unlike chess as a game with harsh and deadly consequences. Taking away pieces was not symbolic. So Esteban cried aloud. The clear and raw panic thrilled the hungry crowds, but chilled Daniel, who whirled his horses in the opposite direction. The movement was overcompensated, and Esteban was able to rush on ahead.

They crossed the line together, sealing a victory for their blue team as the other riders followed. White then red the green. Eight of them in total, but Esteban kept his eyes trained on Daniel who threw his fists into the air. He whooped and barked and the turquoise sky above filled with the frenetic chants of the crowd. 

“Nika! Nika!” 

Esteban tearfully waved to the crowds and whooped like Daniel, who knew how to celebrate on track. The victory meant a lot to Esteban, but that didn’t mean he didn’t froth at the mouth to get handed the cut of the bets he earned that day. In the meantime, he hopped off his own chariot and gave his dusty girls a kiss on their noses. His powerful beasts of dark red had turned into docile pink roses over the twelve laps in their exhaustion. He let his stable boy go through the motions: take the horses to the stables, remove the harnesses, unbraid the manes, brush the hair, all the maintenance things Esteban didn’t have to regularly do for himself. One of the individuals who shared his cut.

Then, Esteban would follow the stable boy to the stables. They could be clearly seen past the circus. A tall structure made of bricks with loping arches hiding the dark homes of their horses within. For the most part, the stables only acted as temporary housing, before they were moved back to Esteban’s private stables at his estate.The rest of his staff would be waiting for him to check the chariot and harnesses for damage to plan repairs or upgrades for the next day’s race. He wasn’t two steps to the stables before he was tackled to the ground. 

“WE FUCKING DID IT!”

Esteban could hear the oddly accented words through the fabric and flesh muffling his head. Esteban couldn’t help but crack up. He wrestled Daniel, rolling around with him as the crowds swarmed them. The bodies moved like a breathing organism. Athenians filled the track of the Circus Maximus, draped in the colors of their favorite teams, all of them chanting the names of Daniel and Esteban. Daniel wiggled his eyebrows then broke out laughing again. 

They held both of each other’s hands and jumped up and down. When the Athenians crowded them closer together, they slipped into an embrace, swaying to the swells and dips of the cheers. Daniel went wild, leading the crowd in chanting Esteban’s name and chanting Nika, something Esteban had dreamed about ever since he watched his first chariot race. That famous word that sent the blood pounding it his head and in his heart. 

Wreaths and garlands fell across their brows and around the crowns of their head. One long string of flowers swept into a sash that kept them both in a hug as giggling fans unwrapped and rewrapped the winner and runner up. Daniel squirmed good naturedly, and they both wiggled their torsos out of their robes, needing to cool off. The adrenaline blanketing them like his colorful laurels. He leaned into Daniel, unafraid to let him take a little of his weight. He’d earned this win, and Daniel was happy to give him the support. Was it everything he’d dreamed it would be? Never in a million years did he think Daniel would want to share it with him like this.but something felt missing. 

Esteban kissed the cheeks of many fans, including Daniel. Esteban was gasping for breath. Flowers rained down on them, and Daniel picked one up and tucked it in the laurels on Esteban’s head. A blue tulip. Daniel giggled, and started putting more on Esteban’s head. Esteban rolled with it. 

With clasped hands, they filtered through their fans towards the imperial fan box to find Daniel’s friends. Esteban nodded excitedly to the ecstatic faces flushed from yelling, his own face blushing with exertion and pride. He felt Daniel’s other hand on his shoulder as he led them up the white limestone rows which were quickly emptying like blue blood seeping off bone, stepping over the rows of seating, past the vendors who collected the cushions they rented out, sold last minute merchandise in the team colors. 

The imperial box was decorated with lavish fabrics. Esteban always made a point to compliment the shiny textiles of deep lilac purples and golden yellows. The box was delineated from the rest of the stands with lattice fencing with interwoven diamond shapes of sturdy, thick-cut wood as well as a line of guards in bronze armour, dented from battle and weapons that were sharp and polished steel. The box hasn’t hosted a king in a while. 

The wealthy ruled the democratic city. No real king nor emperor called this city their dominion. The senators were the rich, educated members of old families with connections. The philosopher kings who argued in the acropolis on top of the Attica Plateau above the city sometimes came to the races, although most of the expensive seating was taken up by more crude aristocrats. When the philosophers did show up, Daniel always made a point to say hi. Even the most charming of the racers got nervous apparently, or else why would Dan always drag Esteban along? 

“I had a wonderful time! Thanks for the great show as always. Especially you, Esteban!” Alcibiades, laid on his side in a pile of cushions with red woven covering with deep blue-green vines embroidery. His robes were coral with printed white flowers decorating the bottom hem. He was clearly drunk. Besides him, Socrates rolled his eyes. 

“You enjoyed your first win?” Alcibiades enthused like a fanboy. He had risen from lounging to leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his chin in his hands.

Daniel ruffled Esteban’s sweaty hair, then he wiped his hands on his robes. He nodded at his friends. Esteban blushed furiously. He tried to style his helmet hair, but it was no use. He was just making it worse. 

“Yes, very much so,” he answered without thinking. That was the adrenaline talking. His voice was a little too high. “I’m surprised you knew it was my first, to be honest. I don’t see you here much.”

Alcibiades nods more than necessary before he said, “Daniel here loves to keep us up to date. He talks highly of you!” 

Esteban doesn’t know what to say to that. Daniel grinned with pride. 

“I’m so glad you stayed for all twenty four races. You could’ve just come for ours, you know!” Daniel is being nice

“We didn’t!” Socrates laughed, not taking the out Daniel offered. “We showed up only a few hours ago. we rarely come to these things. Sports…” and he gestured vaguely and dismissively. 

Daniel just snorted which instantly escalated into full laughter. Socrates gave a tiny at his own joke, but Alcibiades had a serious expression. Esteban squinted and sized the two up for the first time. Socrates just seemed like a dick. Esteban didn’t know if he was really joking or not, but Socrates didn’t seem like the kind of philosopher that really enjoyed sports, which Esteban considered a character flaw. Maybe he was in the same position as Esteban; he was along for the ride. Why else would he be here?

 _Were they dating or something?_

Alcibiades was no Daniel Ricciardo, but nonetheless, Esteban felt drawn by the charming good looks. He was just so fucking nice. A beautiful face and lots of muscles, a dangerous vehicle for a mind like Alcibiades. He was a famous soldier who had taken many spoils of war, retiring as early as he could. Now he spends most of his time dominating the polis; his violence was recontextualized in the battlefield of democracy. Alcibiades was a perfect mechanism in both.

“He just means we only come when dear Daniel is racing. And you! Next time we’re at the same party, we’ll have to talk. As much fun as it is to meet here, I don’t want to limit our meetings to the circus.I had never seen someone close a gap like that on our Daniel,” Alcibiades said. He stretched his arms wide to add some visual aid. 

Esteban was zoning out, but sensing danger, he tensed. He didn’t necessarily need to, but he glanced anyways, and there he was, his beaming teammate who was poised to pounce on him again. 

“I never got to see chariots at the war. Far gone and outdated during my time. Will you come to the Acropolis again soon? You may not be a senator, but you’d finally see for yourself what I’ve been complaining about. You don’t even have to talk. Please, I wish you’d come. Both of you,” Alcibiades offered in a tone that Esteban found intimidating, despite his kindness in directing the invitation to them both. 

Esteban swayed on his heels, reluctantly thoughtful to consider the offer. Daniel and Alcibiades saw this and laughed, while Socrates busied himself staring fondly at how the refreshing breeze tousled the loose curls of Alcibiades that swept just past the nape of his neck, when he threw his head back to laugh. The expression was a fond scowl, and Esteban blushed at the comfortable affection. Esteban wasn’t a philosopher at all. Esteban prayed to Hades that Daniel wouldn’t accept the offer, because that would mean—

“Of course we’ll come!” Daniel accepted on behalf of them both. It was only right after agreeing that he bothered to look to Esteban. Esteban nodded in approval and shrugged as if to ask why not? He could actually think of a million reasons why not. He made a mental note to himself that Dan owed him a favor for this. 

Alcibiades thanked Daniel for agreeing to come, and Esteban decided now was a good time to evacuate the imperial box. He hung out with their fans in the lower rows while Daniel hung back and talked about what philosophers talk about. The circus flooded with a sea of blue robes. Fans of his team dressed in appropriate colors, and cheered when Esteban emerged from the luxurious box near the top of the circus to stumble down to the masses. He was feeling numb. The adrenaline far gone and replaced with something suffocating. He’d won. What next? Why wasn’t that enough?

Daniel caught up with him walking out of the stables. He gestured to a bench, and the two of them sat down overlooking the tamed chaos of the circus. 

“Sorry about before, if you don’t want to come to the Acropolis, don’t worry about it! I can go myself, and I’ll make up an excuse for you if you want.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll go. It’s not a big deal. I might be a little awkward, but I doubt it could be that bad.” Esteban nudged Daniel’s shoulder with his own. Daniel shook his head. He had a soft smile on his face.

“What plans do you have to celebrate your win, Esteban?” Daniel asked, changing the subject.

Esteban got that flicker of realization. 

“I am going to throw a party at Lance’s villa! Please come!” With that offer, he plucked a yellow blossom from his crow and placed it in the braided gold-painted ivy around Daniel’s head. He earned a smirk. Hopefully he could ramp it up to a yes.

“Oooh and what will this party entail?” 

Esteban tilted his head to the side at that. “Do you throw parties for your own wins?” 

“No, I don’t party, otherwise I would have invited you. I’ve heard you’re a party animal.” 

He hummed in response. “I sort of expected it just to be our work relationship. We only really hang out at the track.”

“Do you think you’ll come then? It’ll start in two days. You kind of owe me one, but I don’t want to pressure you into something you don’t want to do.”

“Like you said, I doubt it could be that bad. I can’t wait to celebrate your first win. Thanks for inviting me!” Daniel put his hand on Esteban’s far cheek and gave a smooch to the cheek closest. Again with rubbing Esteban’s har, but thankfully it wasn’t sweaty anymore. “Let’s go find Cyril and get our money.”

Daniel ended up following Esteban home, seeming attached to whom he started calling his protege. They carried their comfortably full coin pouches to Esteban’s home on the hill called The _Mouseion_ , The Hill Of The Muses, near The Gate Of The Dead on the South Side of the lower city. To the north, the high city of the Acropolis with its naturally steep cliff faces, temples, statues, and basilicas. To the west, the setting sun turned the cyan sky papaya orange. To the East, the rolling hills freckled with stone houses and streets carved generations ago. 

Esteban’s home was nestled between three rocky harbors with busy naval traffic. Longboats for war, wide vessels for carrying textiles and spices and pottery and food. Smaller ships collecting fish. The Mediterranean was a beautiful aquamarine. At night, she was a dusky void that called to Esteban. Tonight, the shallow waves pulled in secrets whispered between two blue sheets. They shifted the heavy rocks on the seafloor, and nothing was the same again. To be so blessed. so fresh and cold and dense you could float in it without any effort. The sea hugged them close in Esteban’s bed all night. The high tide hid nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate name for this fic, Horsenado
> 
> I’m gonna finish this whole fic before I post any of the other chapters. Thanks for reading this uwuwuwuwu dansteban doesn’t get enough love. I was thinking about another ship but I need to feed myself more dansteban content
> 
> Pls tell me what you think!!!!


End file.
